Perfect Parallax
by nexumie
Summary: Tom Riddle was not the only casualty of Amortentia. There was another, one who feared little and believed in everything except what held it all together. This casualty traced his own with surprising fluency, they were but parallels running alongside each other. And what can make parallel lines meet? One had to be the parallax. DISCONTINUED
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Empty Claims.**

* * *

She had made a lot of claims, some small, and some tall. She always thought she could live up to every one of them, but as Annabeth lay there, with her life force irreversibly flowing out of her, she realized she didn't live up to one of her many claims.

She was terrified.

She had spent her life, believing that death was the last thing that could scare her, but now as she was staring it in the face, there was one thought resonating in her mind, she still wanted to live.

Her lips struggled to form words, but every part of her was failing her. Annabeth grasped mindlessly at the warmth that held her hand. She wished she could place the person who was witnessing her last moments, but her sight refused her finality. She was going to die in the arms of someone who she didn't even know.

" _-breathe-"_

How could she when her lungs were flooded with blood?

" _-keep your eyes open!"_

She had no strength left. She couldn't.

" _-Anna!"_

Her last thought before thoughts left her, was how distinct the timbre of the voice was. So distinct that she still wanted to hold on. Distinct enough to make her want to live some more.

A jerk wracked her mind as she realized.

Everything was underwater, and he was calling to her. He was saying something, and she battled for breath, she had to get her last words in before she lost the chance.

"Tom," she choked, her life fading with her words.

"This...this is g-good enough."

* * *

 **Hello!**

 **I am quite excited for this story whose plot has been making itself up since the moment I conceived it. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I am enjoying writing it.**

 **Please take a moment to review, it is a huge motivating factor for me to write more. Another note: this story will go hand in hand with another recent publication, Constant Circles. Please read that story too, for it will have important elements, this is essentially one story broken up and told from two viewpoints.**

 **Thank you for reading, and please do review! :)**

 **nexumie.**


	2. Chapter 1: New Lives

**Chapter 1 : New Lives**

* * *

There was a rare commotion in the usually silent building of Wool's orphanage.

Mrs. Cole, the matron was holding a child away from a screaming woman, as another pair of strong hands pulled the lady away from her. The girl cowered into the hold of the matriarch, evidently confused and scared at her ordeal.

" _-I am not leaving her here!"_

" _\- I am not giving you any choices, Cecilia!"_

Cecilia's throat seized as she looked at her daughter. She knew this day was coming, but she did not anticipate it would be so soon. She tried pulling her arm out of her husband's grasp, and failed. She took a deep breath, as though showing him she was controlled now.

"Fine." She stated. "Fine. I will leave her, just let me," Cecilia reached behind her neck trying to pry the clasp of her pendant off. Seeing that, the man released her, and the woman took off her necklace, placing it in the hand of the matron. Her eyes pleaded with her to give the jewel to her daughter.

The woman continued sobbing softly, as she was whisked off by her husband into the cold night air. A few minutes passed, which Mrs. Cole used to make sure that the couple wouldn't return for a while.

The matron, in her time serving the institution, had come across many instances when a couple would arrive, with a baby in their arms, or a toddler in tow, and they would abandon their offspring at the building, it was not anything new to her.

But as she gazed at the girl who was now sat shivering in a chair, Mrs. Cole wondered why any couple would want to give such a pretty child away.

Golden haired, blue eyed and surely paler than she normally would be, she had not gotten the child's name yet, but she could see palpable fear resonating in her eyes. The child must not have been older than eight, she concluded, then she proceeded to wonder why they were giving her away at this age. Couples seemed to leave babies here more often, as babes asked no questions.

And this little girl had questions and plenty of them, she was too terrified to voice any as of now. Mrs. Cole produced a flimsy blanket and laid it on her shoulders, she was starting to feel almost sorry for the blonde little girl, and Mrs. Cole tried to not feel sorry for the many sorry children that came here.

In time, the equally as blonde and pale, just as handsome as his daughter, the man came back, to finish any and all formality that required to be penned out, then he could free himself of the custody of the girl.

Mrs. Cole eyed the man, and not for the same reasons that the younger matrons were staring at him covetously. The matron was trying to read his face, decipher the story that led to her new addition in the orphanage, to her dismay, he was carefully composed, letting nothing on.

She handed out the paperwork to him, asking, "May I have your name?"

Clearly disgruntled at his wife's antics, the man straightened his tie and took out a pen. "Richard Demesne," he answered smartly as he started signing the documents.

Mrs. Cole did not have a moment to question his strange surname as the man finished, handed her the documents and strode out, in an evident hurry to get away from his daughter, she noticed as he sent a malicious glare towards her. The girl shrunk in her seat, her father's features twisting into fear on her face.

When the unpleasant man was gone, Mrs. Cole started to lead the girl to her room upstairs.

"Your name, dear?"

The girl looked up at the woman, and Mrs. Cole heart gave way as she noticed the glazed appearance in her blues. Her tinier hand held hers in a death grip, and in the smallest voice, she answered,

"Annabeth."

* * *

The room she was given was just slightly larger than a cupboard, consisting nothing more than a bed, desk and wardrobe. Annabeth did not complain about her accommodations, she simply took a seat on the bed, head hung.

"Your mother left this for you," Annabeth's head snapped up at the mention of her mother, she practically snatched the thin chain away from the hand holding it out. It was a tiny flower, housed by a silver oval, the last mark she would have of her mother. She then tried to put it on, struggled until Mrs. Cole did up the clasp for her.

There was a momentary flicker of life in her blue eyes as she fingered the locket, then she returned to her previous dismal state.

Mrs. Cole left the girl in her room, she thought it would be best to leave her to herself, for the one lesson that living in an orphanage had taught her, it was this that the first thing that abandoned children needed most, was a good weeping.

And Mrs. Cole could not have been righter. It took a few more seconds for the last vestiges of shock to pass Annabeth, before tears overcame her.

The young lass was curled up in a ball of sobs and silent tears on Mrs. Cole's next visit, her finger twisted in the ornament. She had come to call her to dinner, but one look at her state told her that she would perhaps want food in her room, for at least the first few days.

"I will get you your food right here, is that fine?" she had asked, and Annabeth had replied, "I do not want any."

Mrs. Cole considered pushing her to eat, but then she remembered that the rest of the children will have just a little more, if she skipped dinner. Years of conditioning to provide enough for all had made her think in this manner.

She left her alone once more.

* * *

Ignoring the hunger pangs resounding through her body had seemed acceptable while Annabeth was seized up in her longing to see her mother again. However, as midnight approached, her stomach demanded nourishment insistently.

Annabeth did not know where she was, she did not know where she would get food from, all she knew was that she was definitely hungry, and she would not be able to sleep, until she had her fill.

She crept out of bed, and down the stairs, sneaking around corners and rooms until she came upon a long room that held an equally as long table. She easily recognized the cold storage on the side, and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

To her utter disappointment, there was next to no food left. She found a piece of bread which she ate whole, but apart from that all her pawing was proving dishearteningly fruitless.

"You will not find anything."

Annabeth was taken aback by the sharp voice that almost scolded her. She half-expected Mrs. Cole to be standing there, disapproving at her nightly excursions, but the voice spoke again, and she knew it belonged to a child like herself.

"Who are you?" The voice asked with underlying tones of defiance. Annabeth turned around, meeting the eyes of her ambusher.

"I am Annabeth." She put her nose in the air, her voice was just as defiant as the little boy's who stood in the dark doorway. "Who are you?"

The boy was silent, scrutinizing her from his post, and she watched him straight back. Everything about him was dark, Annabeth noticed. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, except his ivory skin. Even his gaze was dark.

"Tom Riddle," he answered after he was satisfied with his observations.

"Well, Tom Riddle, do have anything to eat?"

"I do not."

The movement was subtle, but it was there. Tom's eyes flitted away from hers for a split second, his hand touched his nose for another moment, and he imperceptibly changed his stance to face the exit some more.

She looped her finger around her necklace.

"You're lying." She said simply.

His eyes snapped back to hers, somehow darker. "I am not." The defiant tone reentered his voice.

"You lied again." Annabeth stated, watching how his hand kept tweaking his nose, his feet shuffling.

"How would you know?"

"I do."

Annabeth went back to rummaging through the fridge, her fingers cold with searching. She knew there were not much options, but if she was willing to eat a stale bread, she hoped she could find more of it.

"I told you, you will not find anything there." Tom restated, now folding his arms.

"Then give me something to eat, Tom Riddle," Annabeth stood up again, and her empty stomach protested loudly.

The boy sighed almost exasperatedly, before he beckoned the girl with a finger. Annabeth left the kitchen and trotted along behind him, as they climbed the stairs and reached the corridor she had just come from.

"That is my room," Annabeth indicated, pointing to the door beside the one they were entering.

Tom simply nodded, stepping into his room.

"We're neighbors," Annabeth pressed, trying to elicit a reaction from him. He had been impassive since their first exchange, and she wanted to change that.

He hummed his acknowledgement, and Annabeth rolled her eyes behind him. Her advances at starting a friendship were not being received kindly.

"Can we be friends?" She tried a direct approach, and was met with Tom flashing his dark eyes at her. She was not intimidated though, he was but a child like herself.

"I do not need friends."

"You're helping me, friends do that."

Tom shoved a two fruits into her arms, his annoyance now apparent.

"We are not friends."

This time Annabeth rolled her eyes and made sure he could see it, before she turned on her heel and left. Well, at least now she wouldn't have to go all the way downstairs for food, when she could find some right next door.

* * *

A bright glaring light invaded her vision, instantly waking her the next morning. She blearily opened her eyes to see a thin woman whipping the curtains open, she was clad in an apron and bonnet, she must be one of the workers here.

"Downstairs, third door on the right corridor, breakfast is being served." The maid told her stoutly, with the air of a person who had said the same things many times before. Annabeth saw no point in telling her she already knew where to go, and she was just leaving the room when the maid pulled her back.

"Put this on."

Annabeth looked at the drab grey clothes she had handed her.

"What is this?"

"Uniform." The maid answered, leaving the room.

The clothes made her light hair, skin and eyes look even whiter, even more monotonous, but she knew she had to bear it. She was thankful that the clothes were comfortable, at least.

Annabeth sullenly treaded to the dining hall, as she entered the room she had been in last night, she was met with the sight of children milling about the room, and then she realized why this place needed such a large, long dining table. Toddlers, children and teenagers alike swarmed the place, grappling for food.

Annabeth was handed a plate, and she found herself ushered into a queue, which was moving fast enough that she was soon faced with a gray blob of food on her plate, then she was whisked off to take a seat at the long table.

Annabeth had to summon up some courage to take a bit of the blob, and to her apparent relief, it tasted like nothing. She would not complain again, whatever went into the porridge, it was filling her up.

Everything about this place was so gray. The clothes, the walls, the people, and even the food. The dull grays were so intense they seemed to be leeching off her energy, putting her in a mood as morose as she saw everyone in.

The gray was so dreary and suppressing, that Annabeth eyes latched easily onto the most prominent sight that her eyes caught first, the black of his hair seemed almost bright in comparison to the gray.

She was not surprised when Tom caught her gaze, and immediately dropped it as though she were just another face in the crowd. Annabeth did not let it bother her, there were so many people here, she didn't have to concentrate so hard on finding a friend in Tom Riddle.

But as he continued ignoring her, even dismissing the small smile she sent his way, in fact he had rolled his eyes at her as though it were a late reaction to her eye rolling last night, she started to feel the beginnings to irritation creep up her. What would it take out of him to just return a harmless smile?

Annabeth focused her attentions elsewhere, at the girls twirling their hair around their fingers as they conversed with a male, the maids slopping out food hastily to the children, the children themselves sullen, their eyes cast downwards and shoulders slumped…the entire aura of the room radiated depression, and she could feel it take a toll on her. She sometimes chided herself on being so observant of her surroundings and the people in them.

She was busy deciphering the message that a child was sending towards a maid with his body, it was that of total disobedience and even resentment, she was observing how his feet continuously pointed towards the exit, his hands knotted, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, and she was completely delirious to the many people sliding in and out of the seat beside her.

"Good morning," the greeting took her by surprise, she was not expecting anyone to greet her, and so she ignored the word, assuming it was meant for someone else.

A throat cleared, "Good morning," The voice pressed, and she recognized it at long last. One look at him and she could tell that every feature of his face and being was saying that last thing he wanted was to be ignored.

"Tom Riddle." She said simply, returning the coldness she had received from him.

That seemed to be the extent of their conversation as they ate in silence, she noticed he would barely touch his food, simply toying with it, until he could leave. A question struck her.

"Where did you get those fruits from?" She asked, as she has given the room a thorough once over, and she had not found any other articles of food, other than the large pots brewing on the stoves.

"You'll find that the matrons here eat better than us," he craftily tucked superiority into his words, as he swirled the porridge around. "You just need to know where to search."

This had definitely piqued her interest now, she sat up straight, eyes a little more alive for the first time since last night.

"Okay," she prompted, but Tom remained pokerfaced. She prodded him some more. "Tell me."

"I don't wish to share my amenities." Tom replied in that infuriatingly lofty voice of his, smoothly dismissing her.

Annabeth huffed, why did he stimulate her curiosity if he was not going to satiate it? The huff did not go unnoticed by her company, and she saw him smirk in perceived victory.

Her curiosity was now replaced by a deep annoyance. The competition in her had been aroused, now there was little that would keep her away from the matron's quarters.

This Tom Riddle needed to be kicked off his high horse, and she would be glad to be the one to do it.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Please review!


	3. Chapter 2: Friendships and Acquaintances

**Chapter 2 : Friendships and Acquaintances**

* * *

Annabeth was quite frankly, very surprised at the ease with which she entered the matron's quarters. She was expecting a bit of a challenge, but as she crept through the dark hallway past shut doors and open ones, she felt as her quest was not doing justice to the zeal with which she had started her search.

She thought that the women here never gave much thought to the possibility that the many children in the building would ever try to break into here. However, locating the private kitchens was proving to be more tedious than entering the place.

Annabeth crept around, evading some people who were still in the halls, she was small enough to squeeze out of their sight, she entered as many open doors as she could have, but she found no place that spoke of food.

When tiredness started to overcome her, she debated postponing her hunt to another night, but her plans diminished as she caught sight of a familiar plump woman and her mind placed the waddling walk belonged to Mrs. Cole.

Annabeth, for whatever reasons, started to follow the head matron. Somewhere in her weary mind, she was hoping that following her would lead her to the kitchens, after all, Annabeth could not be the only person who craved late night snacks, could she be?

Staying in the shadows, she traced Mrs. Cole's footsteps, and was completely taken aback as she was led into a large, fully furnished chamber that seemed out of place in an orphanage as drab as Wool's. Annabeth crouched under a large table as she watched the matron climb into a four-poster bed. Once the lump on the bedding was devoid of movements, she crawled out, and started examining the contents of the table she used as a hiding place.

Annabeth eventually ended up ignoring the fruits in favor of the cakes and loaves that lay tucked away. The girl spared a second to wonder why Tom Riddle would only take the fruits when there was an abundance of options, but then her mind was preoccupied by marveling at the goodies before her. She gathered as much as she could carry, which was not a lot, and once satisfied, she snuck out of Mrs. Cole's private chambers.

Getting back to her room was harder when she was laden with food, but her memory of the path back helped her navigate her way. Once she was safely inside, she hid away her treasures, saving one sweet bun which she ate contentedly as she lay on her bed.

Victory tasted good.

* * *

The next morning, she was awoken in the same rude fashion by a different maid, Annabeth trudged down to breakfast, secretly hoping that her life would not fall into this monotonous routine.

The chatter and din in the room mirrored that of the day before, and Annabeth was again pushed into a line and handed out gray porridge. She sighed as she sat surrounded by children. She tried to bring herself to observe the people in the room, one of her favorite things to do was watch a pair talk and try to guess the interests of their conversation by reading their faces and bodies.

Today, however, her mind insisted on imagining what the dark boy's face would look like when she tells him that she had found his secret food stash and that she was going to have a share in it, whether he liked it or not.

Tom Riddle, was however nowhere to be seen. Annabeth distractedly let her eyes roam the perimeter of the room, ran through the crowds, and she could not locate the bright black of his hair. She realized his aversion to the food here as she found herself twirling her spoon in her hands, trying to while away the time.

When the first of the children started to be led away from the room, Annabeth made her escape. She ran back to her room, and pulled out the scarf she kept her food hidden in. This was going to be her real breakfast, something sugary and fulfilling.

As she ate, she thought. Tom Riddle was not to be seen in the dining hall would either mean that he had already eaten and come back, or that he had never come down at all. Annabeth still wanted to boast about her findings, and the more she tried to finish her croissant before she went knocking on his door, the more she wanted to appear at his doorstep, croissant in hand.

Eventually, she slid out of her bed, opened her door, and two steps later, found herself knocking at Tom Riddle's door. The door creaked open slowly, as though he was expecting to be reprimanded, Tom peeked out from behind the door, his eyes narrowing as he saw who his visitor was.

"Annabeth." He greeted coldly, still eyeing her. Annabeth got her desired reaction as his eyes finally landed on the confection in her hand.

"Where did you find that?" His voice was more incredulous than his face.

"Let me in, and I might tell you." Annabeth shot back. She smirked as Tom opened the door a little wider, it was a reluctant invitation.

She awkwardly took a seat at the edge of his bed. The room was bland, just like hers, but so much neater. She self-consciously smoothed out the wrinkles on her gray dress.

"Where did you find it?" The question seemed to be asked towards the dessert in her hands, rather than her.

"You should know, Tom Riddle. It is the same place you got your fruits from."

He shook his head.

"The kitchens do not keep any baked goods other than brown bread." He answered her, still ogling at the croissant.

Annabeth was going to make a remark about his apparent knowledge of the kitchen's inventory, when it dawned on her that the table she had taken the food from had much more of baked goods than simple brown bread. Then she realized that the place she had been to was _not_ the kitchens.

She leered at him, "You do not know where I got this from?"

"I would not be asking you otherwise." His voice was tighter than before.

Her smirk turned into a chortle. It was her turn to keep secrets.

"I do not wish to share my amenities." She responded briskly, taking a mocking bite out of her bun.

"The second corridor, fourth door from the left leads to the matron's quarters." He started, his eyes boring into hers.

"What?" She questioned, but was cut off.

"Then you take a left turn then the right, the third door leads to the kitchens." He continued, paying her no heed. "That is where I got my fruits from."

She raised a brow. "What am I to do with that information?"

"I told you," he explained, "Now it is your turn to tell me."

She rolled her eyes, but she could not steer this in her favor. The boy had his ways, she noted.

"Fine. I got it from Mrs. Cole's private quarters." She retorted, displeased at having to indulge her whereabouts.

It was his eyebrow that elevated this time.

"You were in her quarters?"

"Yes. From the first left turn, you take the right fork, then the end of the hall leads directly to her chambers."

He nodded his head in acknowledgment, falling into apparent deep thought.

Annabeth knew how the events would turn now. She knew that in the company of a stranger more than five seconds of the absence of words made the silence uncomfortable. But she was again taken by surprise when the lack of conversation between them was hardly awkward.

Neither felt the innate need to entertain the other, Annabeth because she was busy observing Tom and his body language, or the careful lack thereof, and Tom because his eyes never left the croissant in her hands.

Her observations told her a few things: no normal person should be so pale their tone bordered on blue, the slight vibrations in his shoulders were clear shivers, and the circles around his eyes unhealthily prominent now that she was seeing him in a clear light.

Annabeth was unexpectedly seized by pity, this lad must have lived here for a long time if he looked so emaciated, and she felt guilty flaunting her food in front of him. Just because he had not directly asked her for it, did not mean he desired it.

"Wait," she said suddenly, bounding out of the room to the one adjacent. Annabeth unrolled her scarf, procuring a fruit cake, she ran back to the room she had come from. She thrust the confection into the dubious hands of Tom Riddle.

Her fingers brushed his for a second, and a shiver ran up her arm. His hands were chilled to the bone, and in one swoop, Annabeth reached out placing the back of her palm to his forehead.

Tom growled and slapped her hand away and fixed her with a cutting glare, but the contact was enough to tell her his temperature was skyrocketing. She now knew why he hadn't come down to breakfast, he probably couldn't walk that far with a fever this high.

"You should tell someone." She quipped, as he ate the dessert. Tom scoffed between mouthfuls.

"And what will they do?" He asked, "Nothing." He answered his own question.

Annabeth widened her eyes, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, this place is content with keeping us only on the brink of life." He snarled, "They do not care about our living conditions."

"Have you fallen ill before?"

"I seem to fall ill every other day."

"Have you ever told someone?"

"Yes, and nothing came of it."

Annabeth twirled a blonde lock between her fingers. She had an opportunity to show him that she meant no harm, and to make up for the time she had spent boasting her food in front of him, when he had no breakfast and was definitely starving.

"My mother fell ill often," Annabeth said, "I used to care for her."

Tom raised a dark brow in question. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I know how to care for a sick person, I could help you Tom Riddle."

"I do not need your help." He replied immediately, avoiding her eyes, his tone now saying that she had clearly overstayed her welcome. Annabeth wanted to press her point, but was stopped very rudely when Tom got up and opened the door, signaling her way out.

She promptly rolled her eyes and stepped out. She could after all, only help him if he wanted to be helped. And she could tell that Tom would gladly starve for a week instead of accept her help without a fight.

"Fine. I hope you know that I know that you just lied…again, the first thing you need is help, and a lot of it, Tom Riddle."

She let these become her parting words as she exited the room.

Oooooooooooooooooo

The day was unbearably uneventful, save for her conversation with Tom Riddle. It was utterly amusing, Annabeth thought as she climbed into bed, how hard he tried to conceal his bodily and facial expression once he found out she could decipher between his words using them.

 _As though he were hiding something._

Annabeth fell into a deep sleep, one filled with past memories and longings for the life she left behind.

A series of thumping on her door abruptly woke the girl up. Her first instinct was to shrink into her bedcovers, a childish fear of ghouls knocking on her door seized her for a fleeting moment, before she banished such thoughts from her sleep muddled mind.

The knocking persisted, now more urgent than before, as though the person had been knocking for a while now. Annabeth spared a second to wonder what time it was, she guessed it must be much past midnight, though she had no way of knowing the exact hour.

The rattling came again, louder, vibrant with annoyance.

She slid out of bed, taking timid steps towards her door. She opened it a crack, but the corridor was too dark to place the silhouette, she unbolted the door further, and she identified the individual just as suddenly as the figure was overtaken by a fit of coughs.

"…Tom Riddle?"

He looked at her, eyes pleading for help, though no words left him, only hacking coughs. Annabeth's instincts took control of her, she ushered him into the room and sat him down firmly on her bed, wrapping her blanket around his shoulders. She then left for his room and returned with his blanket, enveloping his trembling form in that as well.

"…What happened?"

"You were right," he gasped, "…help," he managed before another convulsion took him.

Annabeth couldn't spare a moment to gloat about her precision, something was obviously very wrong with the boy shuddering with increasing velocity in her bed, and she had to do something to bring his discernible fever down first.

"Stay here," She commanded and was met with a skeptical look.

"I could not go anywhere even if I wanted to." He snapped, and she wondered where he found the energy for the snark when he was having trouble breathing. She didn't reply to his comment, she rushed out of the room, coming back with a glass of cold water from a dispenser down the hall. Annabeth had to make the most of what she had, she pulled out one of her shirts, drenching it in the chilled water.

Tom hissed in displeasure as she touched the cloth tentatively to his forehead. She had done this for her mother several times before, so she knew what she was doing, but Tom's irate reactions were making her doubt herself.

"Stay still!" She chided as he flinched away from the cold cloth. "This will bring your temperature down."

"I know what it will do," He hissed from between his teeth, the fever seemed to sour his usual bitter demeanor much more.

Annabeth ignored him again, continuing to wipe his burning skin, she could feel it start to cool under the cold cloth. She tried to mop his back but her efforts were futile, fever riddled skin concealed by the shirt covering it.

"Take it off," she commanded, gesturing at the garment and Tom gave her the most blatantly livid look she had received from him yet.

" _No,_ " he countered resolutely, and that was the moment Annabeth resolved to use force if need be.

"Tom Riddle, are you in a hurry to die?"

The question seemed to bring the boy back to the situation at hand, and he audibly grit his teeth, before he cautiously unbuttoned the garment and removed it only partway through, exposing only a bit of skin at a time.

Now, Annabeth's mother had taught her a lot of things, from bringing a fever down, to tending to sores and blisters, she had also taught the girl to not stare at a person's body, no matter how intriguing their condition might be.

But right then, Annabeth found it immensely difficult to keep her eyes from tracing the painfully prominent dents in Tom Riddle's body, the ribs that threatened to puncture skin, pale canvas stretched tight over his bones, she made quick work of sponging him down, wincing as the cloth slid over the bumps of his spine.

When she was done, the first thing that Annabeth did was go over to her cupboard, pull out her scarf full of food, and then she placed the bundle in Tom's lap.

He was about to ask her what she was doing now, when she said, "You can have it."

He didn't ask why, did not try to return it, he simply secured the knot a little tighter, he had no intention of giving it back, or at the very least, thanking her. Annabeth did not notice, there were heavier things weighing on her mind.

"Do you feel better now?"

He nodded, and for once let her press her fingers against his head and neck, she had succeeded in ebbing his fever, and his shivers had subsided too.

"Why was you mom ill so often?"

The question was sudden, but it was a way to keep another person worth talking to with her. Annabeth hadn't many things she disliked, but lack of interaction was one of them.

Annabeth shrugged, "She was rather weak. Father never was around, so I had to tend to her. She told me a lot about the things doctors do, she always wanted to be one."

"Why was your father not around?"

Annabeth narrowed her eyes.

"Why the sudden interest, Tom Riddle?"

He looked away, "I am naturally a curious person."

She scoffed, "Yes, you are, that is why you asked me of my family before you did my last name."

Tom eyes rounded with the realization that all he truly knew of the blonde girl's identity was nothing but her first name.

"And that would be?"

Annabeth sat up straighter. "I think it is time we formally introduced ourselves, yes?"

She held out her hand, and Tom pretended she didn't, ignoring her handshake. She sighed and withdrew her hand.

"I am Annabeth Irene Demesne." She declared, a slight invitation for Tom's full name.

"Tom…Marvolo Riddle." He sounded almost reluctant as he told her.

"Marvolo? I have never heard of such a name before."

"Neither have I ever heard of a 'Demesne', Annabeth Demesne."

"Hmm…" Annabeth mused. "And how old are you?"

"Why would it matter?"

"Just curious," she smirked.

"Ten."

"Very snappish for a ten year old."

She heard him grit his teeth again. "You should not make comments about your elders."

"Oh?" She challenged him, "How are you so sure I am not older than you?"

"I would guess you are about seven."

"I am nine!"

"That makes me older, does it not?"

It was Annabeth's turn to grit her teeth.

"When is your birthday?"

"I feel like I am being interrogated." Tom jibed.

"You are." Annabeth replied smartly, "Now when were you born?"

"Why would this matter, now?"

"So I could greet you on your birthday…?"

"I do not care for such greetings."

Annabeth heaved a sigh, Tom seemed to have all kinds of ways planned to dodge her questions.

"Mine is on the first of January. A very inconvenient date, if I say so."

"Why?"

"Because everyone is so busy celebrating New Year's, they forget it was also the day I was born."

"Everyone is quite busy anticipating the New Year on mine." Tom said after a pause. Annabeth wanted to groan at the way he spoke in riddles. She smirked at the irony of his name.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because you just told me your birthday, that is why."

"I have a feeling you were smiling for a different reason."

She rolled her eyes, she seemed to do that a lot in his presence.

"Your birthday is rather close," Annabeth remarked.

"How? Christmas won't be here until next week. New year's eve is even further."

"Still rather close."

"Hm."

"I will nick some croissants for you on your birthday." Annabeth avowed, "You seem to like them."

He chuckled darkly, "And why would you do that?"

"Because friends give their friends gifts on their birthdays."

"We are _not_ friends."

'We are!" Annabeth chortled. "After today, I think we are."

Tom scowled, "At best, we are acquaintances."

"Friends," Annabeth persisted stubbornly.

"Acquaintances." Tom repeated.

"Even after I saved your life?"

"You did _not_ 'save my life'."

"Fine," Annabeth shrugged. "At least acquaintance is a start."

"I do not believe we could be friends, Annabeth."

"Oh Tom, we actually already are."

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line, nothing seemed to deter her.

"And you can call me Anna," she continued, "If I can call you Tom."

"Then I shall continue calling you Annabeth, and you shall continue addressing me by my last name." Tom shot back.

"Hmm, why? Because first names are used by _friends_?"

"Precisely."

Annabeth's eyes became thinner as she scrutinized him. He would need sleep, she surmised, he was still unwell after all.

"I see. Goodnight, Riddle."

Tom stood up and promptly wobbled on his feet, having to grab the wall to maintain a balance.

"Goodnight, Demesne."

Annabeth did not have time to show her contempt at the use of her last name in the form of her ninth eye roll, as Tom quavered his way out of her room, back to his own.

"Demesne," he said just as he was leaving, "I happen to prefer fruit cake more."

Annabeth stared open mouthed after him.

Only when she curled down to sleep after clearing the glass and her drenched shirt did she realize that Tom had taken her blanket with him when he left. Instant disdain took hold of her, before she noticed a crumpled pile of cloth in the corner of her bed. Upon closer inspection, she concluded it was Tom's blanket which he had swapped for hers in his fever driven haste.

She shrugged at the shadows watching her, before she drew his blanket upon herself, drifting to sleep once more.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Please review :)


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